


acceptance

by i_kinda_like_writing



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Acceptance, Character Study, Chris Chow's Dads, F/F, Family, Family Feels, Friendship, Happy, Hockey, Homophobia, I promise, Love, M/M, Minor Violence, Racism, Team as Family, f-slur, like not at all, of all kinds - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-24
Updated: 2018-01-24
Packaged: 2019-03-08 19:57:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13465467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_kinda_like_writing/pseuds/i_kinda_like_writing
Summary: There are places and people that change us forever, and Samwell has been a part of Chris Chow's life from before he was born.A love story of many parts.





	acceptance

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This was a really impulsive fic, but I think I'm happy with how it turned out.  
> If you follow me on Tumblr (likeshipsonthesea, hit me up if you wanna) you know that I hc Chowder's parents as the Original Samwell Hockey Gays. Since it's canon that Chowder's parents went to Samwell, I thought there were be a pretty good chance that they were gay, as Samwell is known for its inclusive nature. More on this hc can be found [here](http://likeshipsonthesea.tumblr.com/post/151955366420/okay-let-me-tell-you-about-chris-chows-dads-okay). This might be helpful to read before reading this, just for background.  
> I also recently wrote a [thing](http://likeshipsonthesea.tumblr.com/post/169415005905/meant-for-us) (warning for sad) about Chowder and Dex (mostly Dex) that started to explore Chowder's love of Samwell and how that connected to his dads.  
> SO I started to really want to write a fic about why Chowder loves Samwell so much, and what Samwell means to him (and ultimately means to us all through the comic) and this came about. It's fairly short, made up of vignettes of Chowder's life, but I think it gets what I wanted to say across.  
> Anywho, enjoy!  
> (Warnings for the f-slur, homophobia, and racism, if you missed the tags.)

          The first time Chowder remembers seeing Samwell was when he was eight. He remembers getting off the plane from California with his Pokémon backpack (his suitcase had been checked with his daddies’) and marveling at how cold it was. He spent the majority of the taxi ride to his daddies’ friend’s house bundled inside his daddy’s coat, shivering and wondering if this was actually Antarctica. Daddy laughed the whole while, telling Papa that Chris was just like him when he first came to the East Coast.

          “Don’t even try, Shane. You’re from Kentucky, not Maine, you’re just as cold Chris right now,” Papa had said, smiling like Daddy did when he made a good joke, and Daddy had grumbled and bundled in closer to Chris.

          “Your Papa is a mean, mean man,” Daddy said, grumpy.

          Chris, being young and not great at picking up on the nuances of social cues at the time, frowned deeply and said, “No fighting. You’ll make the new baby sad.” Thankfully, Daddy and Papa had only been pretend fighting, and suitably distracted Chris by pulling out one of his shark books and letting him read from the safety of Daddy’s coat.

The house they eventually arrived at was a stately, old one, with a couple stories and wooden columns with ivy twisted around them. Chris held his Papa’s hand tight as they walked up the steps to the big, scary door. Papa used the metal knocker and, a minute later, a lady with a very big belly opened it up.

          “Jason,” she said with a smile, moving in to hug Papa. It was difficult, because of her belly, but Papa made it work. Daddy hugged her next, and then the woman knelt down and smiled at Chris. Chris kind of wanted to hide behind his Papa’s leg, but he didn’t because he was a big boy and he was very polite. “You must be Chris,” she said, and Chris nodded. “I’m Valerie. You can call me Val if you like.”

          “Hello,” he said, shy.

          “He’s probably tired from the excitement of flying,” Papa had said, and picked him up, which almost never happened anymore, so Chris reveled in it. The adults all made their way into a living room, and Papa sat down on a couch with Chris in his lap. They started talking, mostly about stuff Chris didn’t care about, so he looked around. The living room was big, the furniture old looking, and there were books everywhere with words on them too big for Chris to read. Daddy had said that this lady was a teacher at their old school, and that she had been a friend of theirs when they went to school, so Chris thought that he must need all the big books for teaching.

          She was the one who was helping Chris’ daddies get a baby. They had said that she’d helped them get him, and now she was helping get Chris’ sister. Chris didn’t know how this lady was supposed to help, since he assumed getting a baby was a whole big thing and she didn’t look like she could do much walking around with her belly. She waddled when she walked, and that didn’t seem helpful at all. Still, she was pretty and she had a nice smile and every time she caught Chris looking at her she would wave a little, making Chris blush and hide his face in Papa’s shirt.

          Chris’ daddies said that Valerie wasn’t getting the baby until the end of the week, so the next day they took Chris over to Samwell University, their school, to show him around. They parked near a post-office building and walked down the street until they reached a bridge. This is the part Chowder remembers the best.

          The bridge, which was beautiful and grand, with pillars on either side of the entrance, spanned a huge river. The river was glistening, with boats and geese floating around, and the shores on either side were filled with people relaxing and jogging and sight-seeing, even in the cold of March. But on the other side of the bridge was a whole other world. Chris thought he was in a fairytale. A looming building with columns and a marble staircase was on his left, and in front of him was an unending pavilion filled with students and animals and old, brick buildings, and just at the end of Chris’ view was a beautiful pool of water.

          “It’s magic,” Chowder remembers saying, breathless and amazed, and his daddies had laughed and agreed that there was a touch of magic in everything at Samwell. The rest of the day was filled with sightseeing and revisiting old haunts of his dads’, and Chris didn’t remember any of the specifics, like the names and addresses, but he remembers being amazed the whole time, mystified and transfixed and in love.

          Half a week later, he met his new baby sister, Catherine, and the magic of that mixed with the magic of Samwell turned it into a miraculous place.

 

*~*~*

 

          Chowder’s first practice at Faber is amazing. Jack Zimmermann- _Jack Zimmermann_ \- stands in front of everyone and makes a beautiful, if short, speech about teamwork and hockey and friendship. Chowder is buzzing by the time they’re out on the ice. He blocks almost every shot they throw at him and he’s so pleased that he cheers- _cheers_ \- when he stops Jack’s slapshot. Jack, even though he just failed to score, chuckles a short laugh at him when he does, and Chris blushes but he’s just so _happy_.

          He doesn’t quite achieve the focus he usually has when between the pipes, but it’s just so sw’awesome, to be here, playing hockey, like his dads did, with such amazing players. Jack’s skill goes without saying, but Holster and Ransom are an amazing d-man pair, mind-meld and all, and Bittle is so fast that it takes Chowder extra focus just to see him before he shoots. Everyone is good and everyone cares just as much as Chowder, and it’s so invigorating. This is _real hockey_.

After practice, Chowder pulls off his gear still wearing a smile, and the small, blond guy comes up to him, Bittle. He’s sweaty from practice too, not as smiley (Chowder heard something about a checks hang-up after an incident last year) but friendly.

          “You really like hockey, huh?” he says kindly.

          “Oh, yeah,” Chowder says emphatically. “Playing here, too, it’s just sw’awesome. I think I’m still a little high from getting to play at Faber, with all of you guys.”

          “It’s a good team,” Bittle agrees, nodding a little. “I think Jack’s going to bring us to the end this year. He’s- he’s a good captain.”

          “Yeah, I was worried a little,” Chowder admits. He’d built Samwell up in his mind so long, he was almost worried that it wouldn’t measure up.

          “College can be scary, don’t I know it, especially playing div one hockey on top of it. But if you ever need help with anything, anybody here is ready and willing to be there for you. Got your back, it’s kind of the team’s mentality.” Bittle smiles, a little sheepish, but earnest, and Chowder smiles back.

          “My dads went here, like, twenty years ago, and they’ve always made it seem so- well. I thought maybe I’d built it up too much, but I think I was right. Samwell is magic.” Instantly, Chowder feels silly at saying that, because he’s an _adult_ now and he should be _mature_.

          But Bittle looks at him, considering, and his smile softens, mellows, like cookies in the oven. He says, “Yeah, I reckon it is.” He shakes himself. “C’mon, hun, it’s time for after-practice pie.”

          Chowder grins and hurries to follow.

 

*~*~*

 

          Truly, the first time Chowder was at Samwell was only weeks after he was born.

          His papa, Jason Chow, had been going to Samwell for law school at the time. He had been just a few months into his second year, his first year at Samwell not playing for the hockey team (as he’d finished his five year eligibility to play) and he’d been living in an off-campus apartment with Chris’ dad, Shane Miles. They’d met at Samwell, both d-men on the hockey team their frog years, and they’d fallen in love after a year of pining and fitting into one another’s pockets.

          They always argue over the story, but the general gist Chowder had gotten was that Papa had invited Dad back to California for the winter break, and on New Year’s, three hours before midnight, Dad had kissed Papa because “east coast time is still the right time”, and they’d spent the remainder of the year kissing on a roof while Papa’s family celebrated in the apartment below. They’d been together ever since, and though they weren’t able to get married by the time they’d graduated, the law in Massachusetts had deemed that second-parent adoption by same-sex couples would be recognized.

          When Papa was just starting law school, and Dad got his first job at a little gallery in town, neither of them had felt prepared to have a child yet. They’d just leased an apartment in town for three years (as long as it would take Papa to finish law school) and though it had a small guest room fit for a baby, they didn’t talk about it for a while. Later, when Chowder was older, they’d told him that they’d both been secretly wanting a child but were afraid to bring it up to one another and, when they told the story of the resulting fight (which ended in confusion, as they both ended up arguing the same side) they’d impressed upon him that _communication_ was so overwhelmingly important.

          During the winter of Papa’s first year at law school, one of his and Dad’s friends from undergrad- who was studying to be a professor in between going on archeological digs- had listened to Chris’ dads whine about adoption one night when they all went out drinking and had recommended going the surrogacy route. Then, as they considered that, she offered up her own uterus, and on a bar napkin, Chris’ conception was signed into being. (This was a story that took a Fourth of July barbeque and a decent amount of sangria to wrangle out of his dads, and Chowder has lorded it over them ever since. They still have the napkin, though, which is sweet, he thinks.)

          In the bright, sober light of the morning, all three parties still thought it was a good idea, and by January, Valerie Zhu was pregnant with a baby and Shane and Jason Chow were expecting a kid. Nine months later, on a warm night in October, little baby Chris Chow was born, screaming and kicking and ready to take on the world. He stayed at the hospital a week because the doctors wanted to watch his lungs, but after that he was declared healthy and sent home with his dads to their small apartment with the prettily decorated nursery.

          It wasn’t another week before they’d bundled Chris up in as many baby sweaters as they could and took him to visit the guys at the rink. It was Chris’ first outing, and there’s a picture somewhere of him and the entire 1996 Samwell Men’s Hockey team, his entire little infant body being held in a goalie’s mitt. He instantly had twenty-three uncles cooing and watching him when his dads were busy. They worked out a schedule, so Chris always had someone to watch him free of charge, and if the men on the team sometimes had to explain away baby rattles and diaper bags to the girls they picked up, well, they just had to take one for the team.

          So, truly, the first time Chowder was at Samwell, he wasn’t even a month old. He was skating at Faber before he could walk, being pulled around on a sled by his dads and many uncles, and he lived his first two years of life around campus. He’d sat in the bucket of Wellie’s well (a stunt that only a group of teenage and nearly-teenage hockey players could’ve pulled), attended college courses on mathematics and history, and skated at Faber by the time he was two. There’s a framed picture of himself in little baby skates, holding both of his dads’ hands in his own, chubby baby ones, with the windows of Faber as a backlight.

          Chowder grew up with Samwell, and though he didn’t remember it later, it became a part of him that he could never- even if he wanted to- leave behind.

 

*~*~*

 

          A few weeks into the school year, Chowder calls Nursey up before the sun rises and tells him to come down to Faber. Dex, passed out after his twenty-four hour study session for his first physics exam, doesn’t answer his phone, but Chowder leaves him a message just in case. He shows up with coffee fresh from Annie’s (he was the first one in the door, and he got a free pastry because of it) and he hands one to Nursey- a crazy, sugar-filled concoction that Chowder agrees tastes delicious but also makes his heart thumb in fear whenever he looks at it- and keeps a simple cream-and-sugar for himself.

          Chowder laces up his skates, leaving off his gear, and instructs Nursey to do the same. They skate onto the ice and wait, sharing the raspberry scone Chowder has and sipping their coffees. It takes a little while, but soon the sun starts to rise, and Nursey, bleary from sleep and a little grumpy from waking up so early, marvels at it. Chowder grins, turning from Nursey’s expression to watch the sunrise himself as it casts Faber in a glowing warmth through the floor to ceiling windows.

          “Brah,” Nursey says, breathless, “that was sw’awesome.”

          “Wasn’t it?” Chowder is beaming, it was so beautiful.

          “Which one of the guys told you about that?” Nursey asks, eyes still locked on the windows.

          “My dads told me, actually. They went to Samwell back in the early nineties, played hockey and everything.” Chowder is sure that, when his dads saw this sunrise, it was more romantic than his current situation. But he’s quickly coming to love all of his teammates, almost as fiercely as he loves his family, and though he wishes Dex were here, too, there’s no one else Chowder would rather be spending this moment with. He thinks Nursey can appreciate the beauty of that, too.

          “Is that why you love Samwell so much? Cause your dads?” Nursey says it casually, an offhand question, but it makes Chowder think. Does he only love Samwell because his dads went here?

          “I think that’s part of it,” Chowder allows after a few moments. “But Samwell is more than just a legacy, you know? Like, it feels like the kind of place where anything can happen, where they want you to do anything, be anything, as long as you love it. Like, my dads were gay on a hockey team in the early nineties and no one said shit about it on the team. Here, Bitty is just as good a baker as a forward and the team encourages it. Ransom is a stressed out bio major, Jack is an anxiety ridden history nerd, Shitty is the entire “feminist agenda” wrapped up in a mostly naked package. You know what I mean? We can just- _be_ here.”

          Chowder looks over to Nursey to see if he’s following. Sometimes he doesn’t articulate his thoughts the way he wants to, but Nursey is smiling at him, small but insistent. He nods softly. “Yeah, I know what you mean.”

 

*~*~*

 

          In the fifth grade, Chris came home from school one day sullen and quiet and unwilling to talk to anyone. Even Cathy he refused to smile at, going straight to his room and closing the door with more force than he usually used (which, okay, was still only a slight thump, not the slam of most children, but it was harder than usual). Shane and Jason exchanged looks, but decided to let it be for now. They knew their Chris, and Chris would always talk to them when he was ready.

          They let the night pass as it usually did. They made dinner, kissed in the spare moments they could find, woke Cathy from her nap, and sat everyone down to eat. Chris refused to talk to anyone, but it was siew pau night, so he ate with relish, even with his scowl. He ate his ice cream, too, but didn’t giggle when Cathy got it all over her face like he usually did. Shane and Jason kept waiting, but even after they put Cathy down to sleep and went to check Chris’ homework and have reading time, Chris remained sullenly silent.

          Finally, just before bed, Jason gave in, unable to see his usually bright son so upset, and asked what was wrong. Chris’ expression stayed solemn for a moment, rebellious and refusing to show any of his emotions except anger, and then in the next moment it crumbled and he began to cry. Alarmed, Jason scooped him up into his lap even though he was too big for that and Shane pushed in next to him as they all sat on the couch. As Shane rubbed Chris’ back in soothing, soft circles, Jason hugged him tightly and murmured soft words into Chris’ hair.

          Eventually, Chris calmed down enough to say, “I can’t-I can’t go to Samwell,” in between his hiccups. Jason shot Shane a look.

          “Why do you think that, honey?” Shane asked. Chris removed his face from his papa’s shoulder and wiped at his nose with his sleeve. Jason winced, but said nothing.

          “I-I don’t like boys,” he said, absolutely devastated.

          “What?”

          Chris’ lip wobbled. “I like Erica a lot because she has pretty hair and she always asks the best questions during science class but you said that people could like boys and girls, so I asked Randy to kiss me during recess and he did, but I didn’t like it, so I don’t like boys, and if I don’t like boys I can’t go to _Samwell_.” At this, he erupted back into tears and Jason tried to hold back a smile.

          “Chris, kid, you can still go to Samwell if you don’t like boys,” Jason said, calmly but also with an unrestrained pleasure in his tone.

          “What?” Chris blinked his big, watery eyes up at his papa.

          “Yeah, hun, that’s the beauty of Samwell,” Shane said. “They don’t care who you like as long as you’re kind and good and a hard worker.”

          “Really?”

          “Yes. And you are all of those things, so I think there’s a good chance you’re going to go,” Jason said, squeezing Chris’ shoulders. “Okay? You feel better?”

          Chris nodded, wiping at his cheeks. “Yeah,” he said, and hiccupped softly. He smiled. “I can go to Samwell.”

          Dreamy with his newfound revelation, the fathers put Chris to sleep in his room (covered wall to wall with sharks memorabilia, both animal and team) before relaxing on the couch.

          “What a trip,” Shane said, sighing a laugh.

          “I don’t know where he got that idea,” Jason said. He shook his head and looked over at his partner. Shane was already looking at him. Jason smiled. “Is it bad that I was kind of hoping we’d have a queer kid?”

          Shane laughed, brightly and beautiful, and Jason reveled in the wrinkles around his eyes. When he calmed down, he smiled back and said, “Ah, we still have Cathy,” and kissed Jason soundly.

 

*~*~*

 

          After the playoffs are over his frog year, and graduation is looming, Chowder decides to take Farmer to the rink. She knows how to skate, but she isn’t amazing at it, so they skate in lazy circles around the ice, holding hands and smiling at each other. She looks gorgeous in the late morning light from the windows. Her hair is shoved under a knit cap, as she isn’t quite as used to the cold of the rink as Chowder, and her cheeks are pink with it. Chowder finds himself wanting to warm her skin with his fingertips, so he stops them to do just that and push some of her stray hair from her face.

          Farmer smiles and grips at his sweatshirt to stay still. Chowder cups her jaw, brushing his thumb over her cheek, and leans in to kiss her. When he pulls back, Farmer grins and says, “I’ll race you,” and takes off down the rink. Chowder squawks and chases after her, calling cheater, and even though she had a head start, he beats her to the other end.

          “I won,” he says, when she arrives a few seconds later. She’s panting a little and she glares at him.

          “Ass,” she says, and tucks herself under his arm.

          “What do I get for winning?” he asks, pressing his smile into her hat.

          “Nothing. Your hockey butt. I don’t know, what do you want?” She looks up at him, her most innocent expression gracing her features, and Chowder knows whatever she’s thinking is so dastardly dirty that he should shower before he’s sullied for life. God, she’s perfect.

          Chowder doesn’t know what it is. Maybe meeting at Samwell like his dads did, or just how wonderful, hilarious, brilliant, amazing Caitlin is, but Chowder looks at her and sees forever. He thinks of his dads, so stupidly in love after all these years, stealing kisses like teenagers, looking at each other like the world lies in their eyes. He thinks he and Caitlin could be that, could be each other’s everything, and the thought scares him and excites him and amazes him in equal measure.

          “Chris?” He’s been silent too long and now Farmer’s looking at him with worry in her eyes.

          “Sorry,” he says, still smiling with the euphoria of it all. “Blanked out for a second there.”

          “What were you thinking about?” she asks, voice still tinged with concern.

          “How much I love you,” Chris says honestly.

          Farmer blinks at him for a moment, then hits his chest softly with a closed fist. “Shut up, be honest.”

          “I mean it,” he says, trying to look even more earnest than he usually does. “I was thinking that I want to love you for as long as you’ll let me.”

          Caitlin stares at him, her eyes blinking quickly as she searches his expression for something. “Chris,” she eventually says, barely a breath.

          “I know it’s- a lot,” he says, wincing a little. He curls his arms around her a little tighter and looks up at the windows of Faber. “It’s just. My dads, they fell in love on this rink.” He skates backwards a bit and pulls Caitlin with him, towards the center of the rink. When they stop, he spreads his arms wide, encompassing the whole place. “They were- they were both so alone, isolated, before they got here. And then they came here and they found each other, and despite all the obstacles and-and the rest of the world and the impossibilities, they fell in love.”

          He turns in a slow circle, and when he faces Caitlin again, she’s still staring at him, but her lips are twitching at a smile. He skates closer to her and takes her hands. “I’ve lived my whole life seeing their love, and I never understood it, not completely, until I met you. You’re-you feel like impossibility, like a miracle that I get to experience. I-do you understand?” Chowder winces a little, realizing how sappy and a bit loony he got there.

          But Caitlin, beautiful, amazing, brilliant Caitlin, slips her hands up to cup Chris’ chin. She smiles, small and breathtaking, and says, “Yes, I think I do,” and kisses him.

 

*~*~*

 

          Chris was twelve when his coach decided to try him in another position for the first (and last) time. He’d been goalie ever since pee-wee when everyone else had been too scared to be shot at, and after stopping all but two shots at practice that day, little six year old Chris was sold on his position for life. He loved being between the pipes, being the last line of defense between a loss. He thrived on the pressure and control- and he also kind of liked pretending to be a crab when he wore the big pads.

          But they’d just won a bunch of games recently, so Coach B said they could have a fun practice, which meant switching up the positions. One of the forwards became goalie and Chris was thrust into playing left-winger. He knew, generally, what his job was, so when Coach B called “Go!” and the scrimmage against the other half of the team started, he did his best. He dodged the d-men to the best of his ability, even got an assist, and got to celly with everybody too, which was nice. He didn’t usually get to do that.

          Then, somehow, he got the puck, and through his shock he remembered to start for the goal. He was getting close when one of the opposing team’s d-men knocked him against the boards, hard, and while Chris was still out of breath the guy muttered, “You’re as weak as your fag fathers,” before skating off. Chris was shocked, staring after his teammate. They’d been playing together for months, and Chris knew that trash talk was a thing, but he thought that he would be exempt from it from his own teammates. Or just not to that degree.

          He found himself angrier than he’d ever remembered being. In the next play, Chris made sure that he ended up guarding that same teammate and he checked him hard and illegally. Coach B blew the whistle as the kid laid on the ice groaning. Chris couldn’t even muster the guilt he knew he should’ve felt. This kid, this teammate, had insulted his dads, and he deserved to pay for it.

          “Chow, locker room, _now_.” Coach B was mad, but so was Chris, so he stomped off the ice and took off his gear and waited.

          By the end of practice, Chris’ Dad had arrived to pick him up early. He looked mad, too, and he apologized to Coach B before herding Chris out to the car. “I don’t know what has gotten into you,” he said, slamming the trunk closed after Chris through his gear into it. Chris winced and Dad calmed down a little. “I’m sorry, but you are a good player, okay, and you know the difference between a clean hit and a dirty one. Why would you hurt your own teammate like that?”

          Chris didn’t want to say it, but he had to make Dad understand, so he said, “He insulted you and Papa. He called you-” He cut himself off. He hated that word too much to let it touch his lips.

          Dad seemed to get the gist, though, because his expression softened a little, pain in his eyes, and Chris hated that he’d caused it. “Get in the car,” he said quietly, and Chris slipped into the passenger seat as Dad got in the driver’s. They drove home in silence, and when they got in the door Dad said, “Do your homework. We’ll finish talking about this when your Papa gets home.”

          Chris slammed the door to his room shut behind him and did his homework, even though he was mad. He was a good student, after all. He finished early, as he didn’t have much to begin with, and it left him alone with his thoughts, all of them about that one word. He’d heard it before- he was attending middle school, after all- and he knew what it meant, but no one had ever used it about his dads before. Most of his friends would pause with the word halfway through their teeth, glance at him, and be quiet. He knew most of them didn’t mean it that way, knew it was just another insult available to them. Most of the time, he tried not to let it bother him.

          Most of the time, he could let it go. He had learned things like that, how to let things go even when he was mad. People at school would automatically assume he was really smart or speak down to him like he was a child. One of his friends from elementary school once asked him if he’d ever had American food before, because Chris could only eat Chinese food, obviously. A teacher had once asked him where his parents were from, and when he told her “California and Kentucky” she’d said, “No, before that.” And that was all before they’d known he had two dads.

          He wasn’t unaccustomed to the offenses his classmates and teachers and coaches caused him, and he’d long since decided that it was easier to let them go instead of dwelling on everything that happened. He liked life, generally, and he didn’t want to let people’s ignorance affect his happiness on such a grand scale. But for a teammate, someone he’s played with and defended for months, to say something so horrible so easily, it just ignited in him an undiscovered anger, fueled by betrayal.

          Usually, the stuff he had to ignore was done in ignorance. People didn’t know better, they didn’t mean to hurt him. But this was pointed, painful, meant to offend and throw Chris off his game. He didn’t think people were capable of that, not people he knew. To have that assumption slashed, it not only betrayed him, but ruined his sense of safety. The boy, with one sentence, had destroyed Chris’ feeling of security on his own team.

          Chris was called away from his thoughts to eat, and with himself being silently fuming and his fathers both disappointed, most of the dinner conversation was dictated by Cathy’s four-year-old mind. She talked about daycare, the picture she’d colored of a fish and his giraffe friend, and how Tommy had stuck macaroni up his nose and couldn’t get it out until he sneezed. By the time dinner was over, Chris was thankful to have a reprieve in the form of cleaning up. He loved his sister, but her story telling still needed a lot of work.

          When he was done, it was Cathy’s bath time, so Dad took her to wash up, leaving Chris alone with Papa. Of his parents, Papa was the stricter one, whose word was always final and never left any room for argument. Dad was more pliable. He could easily be swayed if whatever Chris wanted to do also aligned with Dad’s wants, too. Papa was always firm, and he stared Chris down as they sat on the couch, unwavering and patient.

          Chris broke first, as he always did, and said, “I’m not sorry for checking him.”

          “I gathered as much,” Papa said, calm.

          “He deserved it.” Chris could be firm too.

          Papa merely raised his eyebrows, considering. “I thought we agreed that no one deserved to be hurt.”

          Chris faltered. “Well, yeah, but-”

          “If you start breaking your own rules, you’ll have no morals to live by, Chris.”

          “Papa, you didn’t hear what he said,” Chris said, pointed and a little whiny.

          “Tell me then.” Papa waited, patient, expectant, and Chris didn’t want to say it, but he knew that it would be the only way that he’d understand why Chris did it.

          “He said that I was as weak as my-” Chris paused, still unable to say that word. “As my f-word fathers.”

          Papa frowned, and Chris watched as he attempted to keep his expression passive. His eyes widened slightly, his nostrils flared, and his lips thinned out into a firm, straight line. Even still, he stayed calm, and moments later he had relaxed his features once again. “I see,” he’d said, once he’d regained control. He looked at his lap for a moment, then took a deep breath. “Chris, as a gay, Chinese-American man, I have endured many- offenses. You understand what I mean?”

          Chris nodded, because of course he did.

          “Yes, well. I kind of wish you didn’t, but that’s where we are.” Papa looked up and met Chris’ gaze firmly. “I will not take away your right to be angry. I know, growing up, that I didn’t feel like I had that right, and it just led to guilt and shame and a whole mess of issues. So you can be angry, you are justified in your anger, but I want you to consider what you do with it carefully.

          “In all my life, violence has never helped me when dealing with hate. You will have to explore that for yourself, but for me, all it’s done is fostered further division.  And, as frustrating as it may be, getting outwardly angry only serves to invalidate your point,” Papa said, his voice still calm but contained now, there’s effort in it.

          “You’re scaring him with the big words,” Dad said from the doorway. He walked into the room further, putting a hand on Papa’s shoulder. “Look, kid. There are always going to be people who put others down, for whatever reason that may be. It sucks. Usually, it can go one of two ways. One, the person is coming from a place of ignorance and you can try and steer them in a path to bettering themselves. Or two, they’re just hateful and they ain’t going to change, and you have to accept that and move on. You can’t let it hurt you when it’s their issue, not yours.”

          Chris bit his lip, but nodded even though he was still unsure. It was a lot to process and he was still trying to sift through it all. He didn’t like the idea that his dads had endured this all their lives (he’d always known, abstractly, knew why they only talked to Papa’s family, but to hear them say it so plainly, it was jarring), and that brought up a whole new bout of anger, and the prospect of having to do it himself was daunting and exhausting at the age of twelve, but he thought he got the gist of it. Hitting hateful people didn’t get you anywhere; being better than them did.

          “Okay? So we agree violence isn’t the answer?” Papa waited for Chris to look up before smiling. “Good.”

          “It is kind of awesome though, isn’t it? To hit a homophobe?” Dad grinned, cheeky, and Papa hit him lightly, admonishing.

          Chris smiled back, sheepish. “It did feel really good.”

          Dad laughed, and even Papa broke a smile.

 

*~*~*

 

          College classes are a lot harder than Chowder had thought they’d be. He knew they’d be hard, but a part of him thought that, without all-day classes, it would be a lot easier to manage. And it’s true, he has a lot more down time than he used to, but the work is still a lot, and a majority of his time that isn’t spent on the ice is devoted to doing homework. Like right now, with this CS stuff, he’s been working on this fake website design for going on two hours now and he’s only just now been getting to the fine details.

          Luckily, Dex is also taking the same class, and by working on it together they can bounce ideas off one another and ask one another for tips that one of them maybe doesn’t know. It’s actually really fun, and Chowder has been having a good time messing with the code to get really stupid and horrible effects and showing Dex so they both giggle idiotically over it. It’s the kind of reprieve he needs from staring at a screen for so long without a break.

          They also talk about their days and stuff, which is nice most of the time, but today Dex is in a mood. He says, “-and Nursey keeps going on about privilege and stuff and calling me out even when I’m not in the conversation. Like, he’s doing it just to pester me, I know he is, he starts everything and then makes it seem like it’s _my_ fault, and-” And most of the last ten minutes has been a rant of a similar fashion.

          And it’s not that Chowder doesn’t understand to a point (because Nursey is definitely riling Dex up on purpose a majority of the time, and he seems to delight in getting Dex angry and “unchill”) but the more worrying part of it is that Dex doesn’t seem to think he’s in the wrong at all. Nursey, when Chowder has brought it up, has acknowledged that he is provoking Dex a lot of the time, but Dex seems to think that, if Nursey wasn’t poking at him all the time, there wouldn’t be a problem.

          Chowder knows that there is ignorance in the world, and that Dex probably grew up in an incredibly sheltered little bubble of white, straight people in his small hometown of only a couple hundred people in population, but a big part of Chowder thinks that’s no excuse. Dex applied to Samwell, knowing full well that it was the Gay Ivy and all that entailed. He has access to a computer (obviously) and he’s actually really good at research. And for fuck’s sake, he really cares about people. Like, a lot. He has an unending well of empathy, he should be able to see that he has privileges as a white, straight (maybe? Chris isn’t actually sure) man living in America.

          He remembers what his dad told him, about this kind of stuff coming from either a place of ignorance or a place of hate, and he knows that, if he’s going to be Dex’s friend, he has to find out which of the two it is.

          So, channeling his papa’s poise, Chowder cuts Dex off in the middle of a sentence. “Dex,” he says, careful, and Dex stops to listen because he is a good dude (Chowder hopes). “I don’t know what you grew up with, like- what your situation was back home and stuff. But I’m pretty sure that you were surrounded by mostly white, straight people. Am I right?” At Dex’s hesitant nod, Chowder continues, “That kind of experience can be kind of- limiting. There are a lot of things you probably haven’t seen for yourself. So, just. Before you go off about privilege again, maybe do some research? Like, just Google the word “micro-aggressions” maybe. Or read a book about modern day racism, or homophobia. Just, educate yourself before you make an opinion, like you do with everything else. It’s- important.”

          Chowder waits, tense, for Dex’s reaction, knowing that it’ll make or break their friendship. He really does want to be Dex’s friend, but there are things he can’t forgive.

          Dex stares at him for a few long moments. “Yeah,” he finally says, nodding a little. “Yeah, I should do that.”

          Chowder offers him a big smile for that, knowing that it’s not over but at least it’s a start, and Dex smiles timidly back.

 

*~*~*

 

          Everyone around the room laughed amicably as Pope hit the punchline of his joke. Chris laughed, even though he wasn’t sure he got the joke. At only sixteen, he knew a lot about the world, but still less than all the men in the room. His dads’ hockey team from college had come around California for a reunion, and after a dinner and a Sharks game they’d all come back to the Chows’ home for a nightcap before going back to their hotels.

          It was late, later than Chris was typically allowed to stay up. Cathy was drooping, half asleep in Dad’s lap already. Even the raucous laughter of a hockey team of tipsy thirty-something-year-old men couldn’t keep her awake. Chris was too happy to go to bed. He loved seeing his dads act like teenagers again, reminiscing about stories Chris was sure they wouldn’t have let him hear if they’d had the wherewithal to stop it. Everyone here already seemed to know him, too, had a story about babysitting him or his crying ruining their dates.

          The thing that got him the most was the camaraderie, the friendship, the _family_. They had inside jokes from over a decade ago. They asked about serious things with one breath and made a joke with the next. No one was afraid to casually slap a hand against someone else’s shoulder, there were no mutterings of “no homo”, no fear to touch one another. It was so different from the guys on Chris’ high school team, who refused to even compliment one another’s game without assuring them it wasn’t “in a gay way”. They were confident and relaxed in their friendships, and Chris craved it.

          “So where’s the kid thinking of going for school?” Watsy asked, leaning into Papa with his tipsiness.

          “Samwell, of course!” Dad cheered, raising his bottle towards Chris. Chris grinned back. He wasn’t seriously thinking about college yet, just a few months into his junior year, but he knew that Samwell was his number one. The rest of the group cheered with Dad, all various levels of drunk.

          Papa calmed them all with a laugh. “He is, of course, thinking of other places. We’ve got a pretty smart kid, you know. He could go anywhere.” He said this seriously to Landster, nodding solemnly, and Landster grinned back.

          “Of course he is, look at his parents,” he said back, to which Papa “aw”d and teared up.

          “That’s just Sunny, though,” Pope added with a grin. “Smiles covers the looks department.” Dad squawked, indignant, and Cathy grumbled at him in her sleep. Chris giggled into the soda he had (the only virginal drink in the room).

          “Don’t you hit on my husband!” Papa said, more unchill than Chris had ever seen him in his life. Dad giggled, and he and Papa made eyes at each other from across the room.

          “Ugh, they’re still as in love with each other as they were in college,” Watsy grumbled from next to Chris, but when Chris looked over, he was smiling.

          “I really want to go to Samwell,” Chris said, possibly tipsy from the few sips his fathers’ teammates had allowed him from their drinks. Watsy looked over at him and his smile softened.

          “It is your place, kid. Samwell was meant for people like us.” Watsy tipped his bottle at Chris with a knowing smile, and Chris didn’t have to ask what “people like us” meant. Looking around the living room, he knew.

 

*~*~*

 

          They’re all tipsy from the hard pink lemonades Bitty brought home from Murder Stop&Shop the other night, giggly and half-watching the movie playing on the TV. Shitty is lying, naked, across the laps of Jack, Holster, and Ransom on the couch, while Lardo and Bitty use the combined legs of the people on the couch to recline against. Ollie and Wicks are sitting on the armchair together, their limbs so intertwined that Chowder isn’t sure which hands belong to Ollie and which belong to Wicks. A bunch of blankets piled on the floor form a chair of sorts for the frogs, and Chowder is half in Dex’s lap and half on Nursey’s chest. He can feel every time Nursey laughs and it’s really nice.

          They’ve been having a conversation about great butts in the world, and Dex is going on about Tyler Hoechlin’s because Bitty made them all watch the first season and a half of Teen Wolf yesterday “for science” and also because he always heard girls from his high school mooning over it and wanted to know what the big deal was. Holster’s Amazon prime subscription and half a day later, they’re all in love with Derek and are dying to watch the rest of season two.

          “It’s just so… perfect, you know? Like it’s two just-” Dex cuts himself off and, from his vantage point lying on Nursey’s chest, Chowder sees Dex hold up two hands, cupped as if around an ass. “You know?” he finally finishes, devoid of words.

          “Hate to break it to you, Poindorkster, but that’s hella gay,” Nursey says, giggling through his smugness.

          “Really?” Chowder can hear the surprise in Dex’s voice. “Huh.” A moment later. “Nice.”

          The room erupts into laughter, Chowder included. He glances at Dex to see his cheeks pink, but the soft, pleased pink that spans his whole face and neck and disappears beyond his collar. Nursey is happily surprised, and so is Shitty, both of them giggling. Lardo smirks and takes a sip from her cup, but Chowder can tell she’s pleased. Ransom and Holster are dying, collapsed on one another and shaking with it. Even Jack has to muffle his laughter into Ransom’s shoulder, and Bitty is smiling at everyone, pleased pink. Chowder feels his face and realizes that his smile is splitting it open, wide and uncontrollable.

 

*~*~*

 

          Papa was at work, dealing with a big case he couldn’t get time off from. Dad was on his way home from Cathy’s softball practice. Chris was walking home alone, buzzing with anticipation as his mailbox came into view. The little flag on the mailbox was up, signaling that it was full. Chris unconsciously sped up, and when he reached the box he opened it with more force than he should’ve. It wobbled on its stand, but stayed upright, and Chris ran into the house with his spoils.

          He threw bills and ads out of the way until he reached it. It was addressed to him, Christopher Chow. The return address said _Samwell, Massachusetts_ , and the school’s emblem was embossed onto the front of it. His hands shook and he ran to his Papa’s office, looking for a letter opener. If it was- he couldn’t even think of it, scared to jinx it, but he didn’t want to ruin to letter if-if-

          He slid it open and pulled out the paper. It was a single sheet- _it doesn’t mean bad news, financial aid comes later, it’s okay, it’s okay_ \- and at the top it was addressed to him, to _Christopher_ , once again.

_Dear Christopher Chow,_

_Congratulations! We are honored to offer you_ -

          Chris stopped reading. He started crying, he screamed, he laughed. He called Papa on the phone. _I got in, I got in_. His dad started cheering back at him, most likely in the middle of his workplace. _You did it!_ he screamed, _I did it! I got in!_ , Chris felt like he was gone. He’d floated up into the atmosphere, he was euphoric.

          Dad and Cathy walked in the door minutes later and started jumping around with him. _I got in!_ he kept thinking, couldn’t stop. He was going to Samwell. He was going to _Samwell_.

          He got in.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello again! Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed, and if you did, feel free to leave comments or kudos, as both are very much appreciated!  
> This was probably incredibly self-indulgent, mostly me just projecting my euphoria at getting into college and my hopes for that, but I also think it kind of symbolizes what the comic is for us? Like, we've all come together because of Check, Please! and we're making friends and learning about ourselves and the world and having a good time doing it, and idk I'm probably getting too introspective, but I hope you liked it.  
> If you want to message me directly or maybe wanna see my supercool blog ( _ha!_ ) my Tumblr is likeshipsonthesea, I mostly write sad things at one am that I should not be posting on such little sleep.  
> Thanks again for reading :)


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